Dark Possession (4 page)

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Authors: Phaedra Weldon

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Paranormal, #Paranormal & Urban, #urban fantasy, #dark fantasy, #incubus and succubus, #rhonda orlys story, #zo martinique investigation

BOOK: Dark Possession
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She didn't expect the strike. But it came
fast and sharp and turned her head to the side. Her nose bled again
and she tried to curl away.

"Incubus!" He shouted now.
"I am the only one left, Rhonda Orly. All my children are dead.
Long burned inside that 'Pheral prison. I am the son of the mother
of monsters and I can sense what you are. We seek revenge on the
ones who did this to us. And we know what we can gain by
taking…
you
."

It dawned on her that if he
could read her mind, or tried to possess her, he would gain all the
knowledge she had. He would know about the Society, about the
Revenants and their whereabouts, about Nona, about Zoë and about
Dags…and the
Grimoire
. "No…"

"Oh yes," Scylla said as he smiled. "My
sister wanted to hold out for the perfect host. And now we found
her."

Host?

Rhonda stared up at him. If he was an
Incubus as he claimed, was it possible this sister was Succubus?
"No…you can't make me. I know how this works. I have to invite you
in."

Something shimmered in the air to his left.
She thought it had a form at first, but it was little more than a
bending of the bathroom door behind him, like a heat image on a
summer's day. Something without form lingered there.

"Rhonda Orly…you think I'm one of them? One
of those pretenders? What is it they call themselves….ah yes. The
First Born?" The laugh deepened. "The only thing they were first
born from was the whore who betrayed our mother. Oh we are not like
that, Rhonda Orly. We have lived far longer and seen more than the
oldest of their kind. We are timeless, and we have been shut away
for too long."

The shimmering happened again and Scylla
turned Remi's head toward it. That acknowledgement proved it was
real. "Who…is that your sister?"

Scylla smiled. Other than the blood
splattered across his face and the pools of it now dried on his
lips and cheek, he was beautiful once again. Beautiful, and
dangerous. "She's ready for her body now. Ready for your
power."

"I told you, I don't have power anymore. I'm
just a girl that doesn't want any part of this anymore!"

That's too bad. I wanted this to be
easy.

The voice was in her mind, and in her ears.
A woman's voice. Deep. Sensual. The voice any man would love to
hear on the other end of their phone. A voice that would match a
face to launch a thousand ships. And it echoed like a Revenant's
voice.

The shimmering became larger as it filled
the bathroom. Rhonda screamed when icy fingers clawed their way
into her eyes, tore through her broken nose and filled her mouth,
ending her scream.

 

 

February
30th

 

Dear Uncle,

What a quaint little devotional this is.

Sentimental indeed.

Well, let me tell you, Uncle Knowles, that
your niece has achieved a higher calling now. So let us be done
with this and bury you, along with all her earthly possessions.

Say hi to your niece for me.

 

 

Everything changed.

Her look, her walk, the way she breathed,
and how she thought. What small part of who Rhonda Orly was lived
on as a template for Scylla's sister. That part knew what took her,
knew what possessed her body, and now knew what had escaped from a
place no Ethereal or Abysmal dweller ever wanted to remember.

The Peripheral.

She was Charybdis now. Twin to Scylla. The
monster and the whirlpool. He drove them to her, and she drowned
them. They were mated by their souls and suffered immense pain and
torment through the Bulwark, banished for what the Ethereals
believed would be forever.

Stupid…

Six showers since taking this body. Six
luxurious hours of streaming hot water. The blood from Scylla's
body and Rhonda's was long gone, but she didn't feel…clean. It was
an emotion that continued nagging as she and Scylla prepared the
way to exploit the vast knowledge they gained from Rhonda's
template.

So. Much!

And to think! To know where
a part of the
Grand
Grimoire
rested! How ingenious it was
for her to seal it inside a living being. But how unfortunate not
to leave a way to get it out. It would be useless to she and her
brother if they didn't control that vessel. And she was pretty sure
there were safeguards. Traps.

There were always traps.

Arguments. She and her brother fought over
which way to go, what direction to take. He wanted to find the
Wraith and strip the witch's powers back. He also believed
infiltrating the Society was best. They had knowledge. Centuries of
events she and he were not a part of, and perhaps a map to where
their mother was buried.

Ah… Scylla. Always the bookworm. He had a
face that could soften the most hardened soul and turn a peaceful
culture to war, but he was always preoccupied by knowledge. Except
during those rare but insightful moments when he craved lust,
blood, and death.

She knew where the
Grimoire's
Guardian was.
She wanted the book…but a smaller part of her wanted the young man
holding the book. She knew that was the human part of the template.
Something buried in that woman's subconscious. When Charybdis
looked into that place, she found a wealth of seething, repressed
hatred. Jealousy, anger, retribution, rage.

Rage at what the Ethereal Gabriel had
done.

Rage at what the Wraith had done.

And rage at what she had done.

Self loathing.

Yuck! No. Charybdis did not want that, so
she tossed it aside as if flicking a speck from her jacket.

And what a fine jacket! She modeled one of
the witch's leather pea coats in the full length mirror of her
room. It wasn't a bad body. It could be improved. With money

And Rhonda had access to a lot of money.

Scylla stepped into the room. He was dressed
for traveling. "So this is it then?"

She stared at him. "It's your choice. I
didn't ask you to leave."

"I think you're wrong. We need information.
And we can get that information here."

"I'm going back to establish a power base,
Scylla. We're going to need it."

"You have a power base. You don't need to
return to the 'Pheral to check on it."

"Oh but I do," she said as she moved from
the mirror and put her hands on her brother's cheeks. "Warmth. Can
you cherish this feeling? This is what the Faerie value and I have
it. I have a body! I can walk in the Material World, Scylla. We
both can."

He gently removed her hands and clasped his
fingers in hers. "You just don't see beyond the 'Pheral do you?
There's more out there. The Ethereal and Abysmal still exist,
Charybdis. Don't you want revenge against those that locked us in
that hell, that burned our minds and bodies? There are much larger
issues at stake here than what the Faeries want."

"Of course I want revenge. I want the book!
The book is where the spell is, where we will find a way to burn
the Seraphim in its throne!"

"I know. And you can get the book. But not
yet. We have to know more. We have to strategize—"

She wrenched her hands from him and stepped
back. "You strategize all you want. I will act."

He looked sad. "Then you will fail, sister.
And you will be burned again."

"Not if I have the book. The book has the
spell that can free our mother!"

Scylla sighed. "Does it? That's what we've
been lead to believe. But only one other knows that truth."

She smiled at him. "I'm not going on some
hopeless journey to find our uncle, Scylla. I am going to get the
book."

"Charybdis, we work better together. I think
we should look into the Wraith. Now that you have that body, you
know it no longer possesses magic. That creature stripped the key
of the God Mother's blood from it."

Her eyes turned red with anger. "I thought
you were lying." This much was true. She believed she would achieve
power with this body. Power she could manipulate in the Material
World. But it was gone. The blood still sang, but there was no one
to hear its call. She turned back to the mirror. "We have the book,
then we have the means to free out mother and destroy them all.
Including this Wraith."

He leaned his head to one side. "Why are you
protecting her? Is it the girl? Is there something of her soul
still with you? I sensed from her thoughts she and the Wraith were
friends."

"No," she hissed. "There is nothing left of
her except what I want. And I want that book."

"We should look for our sibling—"

"Chimera will not help!" She reached up and
grabbed his throat. Scylla didn't move. "He will only get in the
way. He guards mother. I can sense him. We get the book and we get
the spell."

Calmly, and with poise, Scylla removed his
sister's hand from his neck. "You never did have patience."

"And I never will. Not until every one that
hurt us, every one that betrayed us, and the one that burned us
pays. You get your information. I will get the book. And then we
will meet again and burn the Seraphim and all the Choirs in their
home, just as they set us afire all those centuries ago."

They stood on the porch of Rhonda Orly's
home and watched the white van. He turned to her and pulled his
sister into his arms. Kissing her was his greatest pleasure, and
hers. The men in the white van would see was a man name Remi, and a
woman named Rhonda, parting.

He
whispered
to her.
They are watching you.

They will never see me leave. Infiltrate
them, brother. My Incubus.

He smiled at her.

My Succubus.

 

 

about
the author

 

Phaedra Weldon is a writer and mother of
one. Born in Pensacola, Florida, Phaedra was raised in the lush,
green southern tropic of Georgia. She grew up on southern ghost
stories told while eating marshmallows around campfires, or on the
back of pick-up trucks in the middle of cornfields on chilly
October nights. She worked as a Graphic Artist for over twenty
years in the publishing and sign industries until she became a full
time writer in 2009. Phaedra currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia
with her husband and daughter.

 

This work and everything in it is the sole
property of Phaedra Weldon. Any copying or reprinting will be
prosecuted to the furthest extent of the law.

 

 

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This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the
product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The
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